


(you and me and) all of these living dead

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: Fallout AU, Gen, M/M, Nonbinary Jet Star (Danger Days), Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, i changed things to suit my needs but it’s set in the fallout universe, i had fun w it tho, i’ve rlly out-freaked myself this time, really it’s kinda a crossover, this was kind of just an excuse to explore this universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: Transmitting from the New California wastelands...
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	(you and me and) all of these living dead

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! this was solely for my own enjoyment but i hope you guys still enjoy if you’re reading it! dad i hope you’re proud of me
> 
> quick crash course on fallout lore since ironically i don’t think the demographics for danger days and fallout really line up:
> 
> fallout is set in a post-nuclear war world where radiation has left society to recover itself — its an alternate version of history in which megacorporations destroyed the world through consumerism and now a lot of the planet is an irradiated wasteland (sound familiar?)
> 
> overexposure to radiation creates ghouls (sentient), feral ghouls (non-sentient), and other creatures that aren’t presently relevant (typically....non-sentient)
> 
> synths (“synthetic humanoids”) are creations of the institute (the remains of MIT) from fallout 4, ranging from gen-1 non-sentient robots to gen-3 bioengineered humans w robotic brain chips. synths (also sometimes referred to as androids) are not given rights by the institute despite being sentient, instead using them as slaves. synths that escape are hunted down by the synth retention bureau, which uses wiped and reprogrammed synths called coursers to regulate their synth population and retrieve defected synths. for the sake of this au, the institute is better living, located in the angel’s boneyard (los angeles) in the new california republic.
> 
> humans fear the institute — they regularly kidnap civilians for experimentation, and have been known to replace people with synths, leading to overall paranoia — and by extension, fear synths. ghouls are also discriminated against by some wastelanders due to their altered appearances from the radiation.
> 
> i think that’s all you guys need to know to understand this but i really hope that this is comprehensible at all tbh i don’t actually play the games i just watch my sister and dad play them and i’ve learned the lore by research and osmosis so if i fucked up i am truly sorry lol
> 
> title from make room!!!! by mcr

“So. Who are you again?” Kobra Kid can’t help but ask.

“Fun Ghoul,” says the ghoul. Their tone is dry. “He/him. Figured ‘f I was gonna be almost lethally irradiated I could at leas’ know how t’ party.” His scarred face pulls up in a wry half smile, and even if he hadn’t just saved all of their asses Kobra thinks he would’ve liked him immediately anyways.

Party seems less convinced, mouth pursing, and crosses his arms. Kobra braces himself for impact, because that stance only means trouble. “Where’d you say you were from?”

Ghoul looks uncomfortable suddenly. He looks away, toeing the sand with the tip of his boot. “Nowhere.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Party says, and their tone is the kind of fake-cheerful that Kobra knows is almost certainly going to precede a fight of some kind. Jet looks awkward, too, raising a hand like he’s going to try to place it on Party’s shoulder, then apparently thinking better of it and turning to examine a piece of scrap on the ground with rapt fascination.

Ghoul frowns at his boots, but doesn’t take the bait. “‘M from th’ Industries.” He fidgets with the oversized sleeve of his sweater. “Was ‘n th’ Synth R’tention Unit ‘f SCARECROW ‘s ‘n engineer. But I left when I saw what they were doin’ t’ people.” At that, he looks up, meets Kobra’s eyes, a sincerity burning in his own. “I left. An’ I don’ regret ‘t, ‘m tryin’ t’ help people now. I swear.”

Kobra believes him. Party opens his mouth to argue, but Kobra elbows them hard in the side, ignoring when they scowl at him. “Aces. D’ya know anywhere we could stay th’ night? My brother needs medical attention an’ we kinda don’ have a set home base at th’ moment.”

If Kobra wasn’t looking for it, he probably would’ve missed the brief spark of relief that shines in Ghoul’s eyes for a second. Then he smiles, big and bright, lighting up his entire face. “Yeah, I gotta place near here ‘f you guys don’ mind me bein’ around.”

Kobra grins back. “‘Course not.”

Ghoul beams at him, and then says, “Can ya give me a minute? Wanna see ‘f there’s any parts worth takin’.”

Party yanks on the battered sleeve of Kobra’s pre-War style jacket when Ghoul’s bounded off to pick up spare parts from the remains of the robots he’d saved them from. “What the fuck are you doing?” He hisses. “He’s from Better Living. He could turn us in? Hello?!”

Kobra shakes him off, turning and shoving his sunglasses into his hair so he can look Party in the eye directly. “He defected. ‘S not gonna turn us in.”

“Even ‘f he doesn’t,” Party says, scowling. “He’ll dump us in the wastelands th’ moment he finds out we’re synths. ‘Specially since he was with th’ Industries. Not a lot ‘f people wanna treat us like anythin’ more than glassy-eyed Better Living spies an’ you know that.” He spits on the ground, scuffing it into the sand with his boot.

“He won’t.” Kobra’s faintly surprised to find he means it. “I like him. I think he’s gonna be our friend, P.”

Party glares at him suspiciously, opening his mouth like he wants to argue back, but at that moment, Ghoul reappears back at Kobra’s side, dirt smudging over his cheek and arms full of robotic parts.

“Ready t’ go?”

Kobra smiles. “Lead th’ way. ‘M Kobra, by th’ way. Kobra Kid. He/him. This ‘s my sibling. Brother. Party Poison.”

“They/them, shorty, or we’re gonna have some problems.” Party spits, looking sullen, arms crossed. “Gendered pronouns are for friends only an’ you don’ fit that category right now, got it?”

If Ghoul is taken aback, he doesn’t show it, simply giving Party a wary look and a curt nod to show his acknowledgment. Jet elbows them out of the way, stepping forwards. “Jet Star. He/they.” He holds his hand out for Ghoul to shake.

Ghoul does look surprised at that, hesitating before carefully reaching out and clasping Jet’s hand. There’s a shy smile on his face, very different from the beaming one from earlier. “‘S nice t’ meet you guys.”

Party scoffs, but Kobra talks over them. “‘S nice t’ meet you, too.” Ghoul turns his cautious smile in his direction and Kobra returns it warmly until Ghoul’s face breaks into an enthusiastic grin again.

“C’mon,” he says, hefting the parts in his arms again and turning in the direction of the dilapidated theme park gates. “‘S this way.”

Kobra nudges Party’s arm with his own. “C’mon. Things don’ always have t’ be a fight. Let’s give ‘t a chance, yeah?” Party rolls his eyes but scoops their packs from the ground where they’d dropped them during the ‘bot ambush.

“Fine, but don’ say I didn’t tell you when this all goes t’ shit.”

Kobra sighs. “Let’s just go.”

“Whatever you say.” Party gives him a sweet, sarcastic smile and showily starts to walk after Ghoul, raising his eyebrows innocently over his shoulder.

Kobra rolls his eyes, bites his tongue, and follows suit.

*

Ghoul’s been running with the Fabulous Killjoys for a few months now. And he still doesn’t think that Poison trusts him very much. They’ve been doing better, Poison not being outrightly aggressive anymore, and he knows why Poison is wary —  _“we’re synths,” Kobra says hurriedly, voice hushed. “Me an’ Party. I —“ he swallows, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, and he drops his gaze to his hands, folded in his lap. “I hope you don’ think ‘f us any differently,” he whispers, and Ghoul is startled at the realization that Kobra’s afraid. That he’s scared Ghoul won’t want to be his friend anymore, or that he’ll throw them out of his base camp in the Diner. “‘F course I won’t,” Ghoul says firmly, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it. “You guys are my friends.” Kobra gives him a shaky smile and crushes him in a hug. Ghoul starts at the contact, but leans into it almost instantly, hugging back_ — but still,he wishes he could make Poison believe he’s on their side. That he can be trusted.

On the other hand, he’s not going to do something stupid just to get Poison to trust him. Including this.

“ No ,” he says, crossing his arms.

Poison scowls at him. “Why th’ fuck not?”

Ghoul twitches a shoulder, the static filling the back of his throat and humming in his ears. Part of him  _wants_ it, and that’s the part he’s scared of, the part that’s making him feel nauseous. “‘M not going in there.”

Poison’s teeth bare in a sneer. “‘S jus’ a little bit ‘f water.”

“‘S full ‘f radiation.”

“So  _what?_ We got Rad-Away. An’ why th’ fuck do you care, you’re a  _ghoul_ _,_ dipshit! You’re  _immune_ _._ ”

Ghoul’s shoulders are up to his ears now, and he wants to scream, a little, with the output from the radiation buzzing in his ears like a Geiger counter. He manages to keep his composure, gritting his teeth and forcing the words out. “I said  _no_ _,_ Pois.”

“Fuck you. Get in th’ fucking water.”

“No!”

“Fine! Fucking Christ, fine, Jet, go get th’ goods from Tommy. Gotta make sure Princess here doesn’t get his feet wet.” Poison gives Ghoul a nasty look, and that’s the last straw. 

Before he knows he’s even started moving, Ghoul is in Poison’s space, nose-to-nose, just barely keeping himself from grabbing Poison’s shirt in his fist. “You don’t know fucking  _anythin’_ about me, got that?” Poison’s staring at him, wide-eyed, for once startled into silence. Ghoul’s been patient, but right now he kind of wants to punch them. “Think you’re so goddamn tough. Get off on ordering everyone ‘round like you think you know wha’s bes’ for them. Fuck you.”

He pushes away from them with a light shove to their shoulder that actually sends them stumbling backwards, still looking at him with rounded eyes and a slack jaw. Ghoul just sees the beginning of them starting to recover from their shock, eyes sparking, but he ignores whatever they’re planning to say and turns to storm back towards the car.

“Here’s a Rad-X, radio when you get there,” he hears Poison say quietly behind him, and then hasty footsteps.

“Fuck off, I don’ wanna talk t’ you,” he mumbles when Poison’s footfalls have caught up. Poison catches his shoulder in their hand, not letting him brush them off.

“Hey.”

When Ghoul looks over at them, he’s surprised to see that Poison actually looks a little abashed, chewing on their lower lip and looking somewhere over Ghoul’s shoulder. “Sorry,” they mutter. “Didn’ mean t’ make you freak.”

Ghoul can’t muster the energy to give them more than a tired look. “‘S fine,” he says, shrugging their palm away, brief flash of anger already draining. Away from the rad-filled water, the buzzing in his head isn’t as loud, and he can think more clearly again. “‘S not a big deal.”

“But it was,” Poison blurts, and then looks conflicted. They bring their hand to their mouth, chewing at the nails, brows furrowed. “I —“ they cut themselves off, then seem to mentally steel themselves and try again. “Y’ can tell me what’s wrong,” they say, finally. They seem a little uncertain, shuffling their feet and shaking their bright red bangs into their eyes only to brush them back again. “Y’ don’ usually flip out like that, Ghoul. I know there’s somethin’ up.”

Ghoul shifts uncomfortably. “‘S. Um.” He licks his lips, mouth feeling dry. Closing his eyes tightly, he decides to just say it. “Y’know how. How some ghouls aren’t. Aren’t people anymore? Like they jus’...attack, an’ you can’t talk t’ them or get them t’ understand you ‘t all?”

Poison is silent, and Ghoul feels sick to his stomach, but plows forwards anyways. “So, um. Tha’s what happens when — when y’ get too irradiated. Can happen t’ anyone, really, but. ‘M already. ‘M already pretty irradiated m’self.” He draws a shaky breath, not wanting to cry in front of Poison when they’re about to kick him out of the group for being dangerous or yell at him or something, and scrubs a hand across his face.

Poison makes a noise, a horrified breathy “oh,” sound, and Ghoul braces himself for the worst. Instead, he suddenly finds himself enveloped in a hug. The physical contact is unexpected, and something like a sob works itself out of his throat before he can stop it. He fists his hands in Poison’s jacket, clinging to the fabric like an anchor. His voice trembles when he speaks again. 

“I don’ wanna be a monster, Pois.”

“You’re not gonna be,” Poison says fiercely. “‘M sorry. I didn’t know. But you’re not gonna be a monster, Ghoulie.”

“Okay,” Ghoul says quietly. Poison tucks their face into his shoulder and squeezes him tighter, and it’s the longest they’ve ever touched him at one time. There’s a soft feeling bubbling in his chest, unfamiliar but not unpleasant. “Okay,” he says again, stronger, and Poison nods against his neck, not letting go.

*

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Party is panting through gritted teeth, resolutely glaring at the ceiling as Jet cleans the wound on their leg.

“We don’t got anesthesia,” Jet says, trying not to sound too short. It’s a stressful situation, and Party doesn’t deserve to get that taken out on him, especially since he’s the one who’s injured, but the fact that he won’t stop spitting curses isn’t helping. And just because Jet knows the most in the crew about medicine does not mean he’s an  _expert_ _,_ or that they’re magically able to work when Party’s wiggling all over the place.

“I  _know_ _,_ Jesus  _fuck_ _,_ ” Party spits venomously, proving Jet’s point instantly. He’s squeezing Ghoul’s hand so hard that even the greyish scarred flesh around his knuckles is white, hand spasming tighter when Jet has to dig into the flesh for the shrapnel with the forceps. It has to hurt, Jet knows — he’s been on the receiving end of Party’s death grip before — but Ghoul doesn’t flinch, just murmurs something soothing when Party makes a choked-off noise and goes sickly pale.

“You’re sure I don’ have t’ do anything special?” Jet asks, just to check. He frowns down at the wound. It looks like any other gory wound one would find on any random New California wanderer, the ones that Jet got paid to patch up before he met Party and Kobra. Party always says no, and he doesn’t see any sparking wires or slashed machinery in the gash, but Jet always asks, just to make sure. He’s never had to deal with something this deep for them before, either, out of the few times he’s had to treat either of the siblings’ injuries.

“No, no,” Party grits out. “‘S all organic.” He taps his temple and giggles deliriously. “Mechanics ‘re up here, sugar.”

“Okay,” Jet says in a placating tone, because Party’s already a handful when they’re feeling fine, and right now they’re right on the edge of blacking out from pain. “I gotta stitch it up now, are you ready?”

Party whimpers and turns his face away. That’s not a great sign, but it’s an acknowledgment, so Jet sterilizes the needle and preps the thread as fast as he can. Party stays quiet for the most part through the entire six stitches the gash on his calf requires, save an entirely awful retching sound towards the end that makes Jet feel ill himself, but when it’s done, he’s able to sit up and let Jet wipe the sweat off of his forehead.

“Thanks, Star,” he wheezes, leaning heavily against Jet’s side. 

Jet rubs a tired hand over his face. “No problem. Don’ walk over another obvious Raider trap again. ‘S not a request.”

Party laughs breathlessly, though he still sounds pained. “Fuck you, I can do what I want.”

“Not when it includes gettin’ shanked in th’ leg, motherfucker,” Kobra says, sounding too exhausted to be angry. “Why’s ‘t always you who gets hurt? Jesus.”

“Y’know me. Danger prone,” Party giggles, high-pitched, and slumps so that Jet has to hook an arm around his ribs to hold him up.

“Don’ know that I’ll ever understand how you guys heal,” Jet admits, hoisting Party up a little higher.

“‘S a synth thing,” Party sing-songs.

Kobra snorts. “More like th’ opposite. We’re gen-threes. All organic material, ‘cept a chip up here,” he taps his temple like Party had before. “Can’t get t’ it without killin’ us, though, so we’re basically people.”

“‘S what I said,” Party grumbles, shifting so he can lie down with his head in Jet’s lap.

“You guys are people,” Ghoul says, arms crossed, leant against the table. Jet sighs internally, knowing that it’s probably going to be another round of the humanity debate that gets thrown around the Diner pretty much every day recently. 

Kobra shakes his head impatiently. “Whatever. Point ‘s, we work like humans ‘cause that’s what our bodies ‘re made ‘f.”

“Cool.” Jet smiles, tossing a speck of gravel in Kobra’s direction and laughing when he looks surprised. “Good t’ know. Now I can stop worrying about needin’ t’ know some freaky synth medicine whenever I treat y’ guys.”

Kobra blows out a breath, then smiles back. “Yeah.”

“Mm,” Party makes a discontented noise from Jet’s lap, slapping at his knee. “M’ leg hurts.”

“Suck it up.”

*

Ghoul’s perched on one of the old diner booths by the fire when Poison approaches, poking at the embers with a long piece of metal Poison thinks might’ve been from a screen window. Poison takes a deep breath. “Hi, Ghoulie.”

“Hey.” Ghoul’s voice is warm, and he smiles, even though he doesn’t look up from where he’s stoking the flames back to life. He lets Poison sit right next to him and scoot close, even though he still doesn’t initiate contact until Poison huddles into his shoulder and puts his own arm around his waist. Then he tentatively returns the gesture, fingertips gently resting on the bump of Poison’s hip in a way that sends warm sparks shooting from the point of contact that have nothing to do with the heat of the fire.

Poison shivers, and Ghoul turns his head, hair brushing against Poison’s cheek. “Are you cold? Sorry, I’ve been tryin’ t’ get th’ fire bigger again.”

“‘S okay,” Poison mumbles. He takes another shaky breath, hiding his face in Ghoul’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “Um. I kinda wanted t’ talk t’ you about something.”

“Shoot.”

Ghoul’s hand is still on his waist. When Poison brushes his fingers over it Ghoul stiffens, makes like he’s going to pull away, but relaxes when Poison laces their fingers together. Poison swallows sharply. “I —“ Poison hopes that Ghoul can’t feel how nervous he is, frantic fluttering like trapped butterflies in his stomach. “I wanted t’ tell you.” He grits his teeth.  _Why is this so hard?_ “I um. I like you. Uh. Like, like, romantically, an’ stuff. An’ —“ he hastily tries to backpedal when Ghoul goes still against him. “An’ I know you don’ feel th’ same an’ I don’ want things t’ be weird between us an’ ‘m fine jus’ being your friend, okay? I jus’ thought ‘t wouldn’t be fair ‘f I didn’t tell you. So.” He pulls away, makes to stands up, wanting to kick himself for being so fucking stupid, and Ghoul still hasn’t said anything — “I’ll go. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave now, ‘m sorry, Ghoulie, forget that I said that.”

“Poison.” Ghoul catches his hand before he can walk away, and the fact that Ghoul reaches out first is enough to make him turn around, slump back down onto the wrecked vinyl booth. Ghoul’s mouth is pinched to the side, but his eyes are shining, dark, pretty oil spills in the glow of the fire. “I — “ he pauses, brows furrowing like he’s thinking hard. “Are you sure?”

Poison tenses. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A little wry smile, one that pulls at Poison’s memory, tugs at the corner of Ghoul’s mouth. “Because...y’know.” His hand comes up to his face, fingers hovering over the gaping scar on his cheek, not quite touching the grey flesh or the scar tissue marking it.

“Oh.” Poison’s heart breaks a tiny bit. He twists his fingers in his lap, a little helplessly. “I mean it, Ghoulie.” He hesitates for a second, unsure if the gesture would be welcome, but reaches out, cautiously resting a hand on Ghoul’s cheek. He’s warm under Poison’s palm. Alive.

Ghoul leans into the touch, shudders a little. “I don’ get it,” he says softly. “Y’ guys...you treat me like ‘m normal.”

“So do you,” Poison says reasonably. “Y’ don’ treat me an’ Kobra like we’re anythin’ less than human, even when there are plenty ‘f people in th’ wastelands who wouldn’t think twice ‘bout putting a bullet through our skulls ‘f they knew we were ‘droids.” He draws his thumb over the curve of Ghoul’s cheek, not missing the way his eyes shutter closed. “Why can’t y’ do that for yourself? You’re a person, Ghoulie. An’ you’re super cool and really smart an’ pretty. An’ I like you.”

He drops his eyes and hands back to his lap. “Y’know. As a friend, ‘f tha’s what you want. ‘Cause your friendship ‘s important t’ me.”

“Well. Um. Actually.”

Poison glances up, sees Ghoul looking away from him, into the fire. He’s smiling, though, small and shy and pleased. Poison thinks he might be blushing, and when his brain catches up, realizes what that means, he wants suddenly to beam in response, air getting caught in his lungs.

“Could I kiss you?” He blurts, flushing when Ghoul starts, head snapping to look right at him. Then Ghoul’s mouth curves back into a little smile, tilted up at the corner. He tugs at the bottom of his sweater shyly.

“Yeah. ‘F you want to.”

Poison carefully threads their fingers together, smiling when Ghoul grips tightly back. Then, slowly, so Ghoul has a chance to change his mind if he wants to, Poison leans in. He stops, almost pulling back, when the tips of their noses brush and Ghoul breathes a sharp breath in, but Ghoul puts a gentle hand on the nape of his neck and tugs him the rest of the way down, pressing their lips together. Poison sighs shakily, tilting his head a little bit so their mouths slot more closely against each other. Ghoul responds by increasing the pressure on the back of Poison’s neck, kiss becoming more confident, more sure.

Just as soon, though, he’s breaking away, though he leaves his hand where it is, just tangling in the hair at the base of Poison’s skull. His breathing is just slightly rough, lips pink, and Poison has to drag his eyes away, back up to Ghoul’s. Ghoul’s mouth is pinched at the side again, and Poison wants to kiss him until he stops looking so tense. 

“I dunno everythin’ about bein’ a ghoul, Pois. I don’ wanna hurt you.”

Poison frowns. “I dunno everything about bein’ a synth, either. An’ you’re not gonna hurt me. I trust you.” He squeezes Ghoul’s hand. “You trust me not t’ hurt you, right?”

Ghoul squeezes back. “‘F course.”

“Then there’s nothing t’ worry about. An’ maybe we can learn ‘bout bein’ not-human people t’gether.” That makes Ghoul snort a laugh, and Poison smiles. “Now kiss me again.”

Ghoul huffs through his nose, but Poison sees his mouth quirk up fondly before he leans back in. “Whatever you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> anyways play fallout 4. that’s for you dad <3
> 
> https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Anna%27s_Cafe


End file.
